


Memories

by Left_Handed_Darkness



Series: The man who defied the gods [3]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst, Animancy, Deadfire, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memories, past angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Darkness/pseuds/Left_Handed_Darkness
Summary: Some people have healthy coping mechanisms. Other people have 20 points in metaphysics and questionable judgement.





	Memories

_Build charge, open conduits, execute._

Lightning crackled through the air, arcing along bare copper coils as he slammed the first switch down. The air stank of ozone and liquid adra, and a glance at the dials informed him that the first relays were in order.

_Drain adra core, test foci, release._

Another machine hummed to life, the generator thrumming with power as the glass tank - sectioned into containers linked by copper wiring and liquid adra solution - glowed in response. Trembling hands that were steadied with nothing more than willpower and spite, set the small adra bán pendant against the connectors.

_Check connections, purge vessel, initiate essence purge._

Another knife switch slammed down, releasing a shower of sparks. He flinched back, blue eyes peering over an arm raised in defence. Yet the pendant remained seemingly unharmed. The animancer took a deep breath, peering over to the contraption at the other end.

* * *

A sacrifice.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Another blood sacrifice under the cruel gaze of the Queen-That-Was. Her rough-hewn countenance gazing down on him, the light from the brazer flickering across her sharp features - almost bringing her to life.

Glowering. Judging. Demanding.

A confession? A joke more like. All their accusations were born of lies. Any truth was followed by pain, and even now, all he could make out was the indistinct muttering of the priests, and Woedica’s stony gaze. All else was drowned out by the delirium and agony and the wounds upon his soul.

He laughed, blood running in rivulets from open wounds. The priests fell so silent that he thought he could hear that quiet _drip-drip-drip_ as each drop hit the floor; tension lingered in the air so palpable that he could feel it as much as the manacles binding him in place. And yet, he was _laughing_.

The servants of law and authority, bending knee to a dishonest aristocrat. How could he not laugh?

* * *

 

_Integrate subject, brace..._

He grimaced, wishing that he’d thought through his plans a little more. The machine’s connectors felt cold against his skin, sending a tingle up his arms and down his spine. The animancer grimaced, teeth bared as he affixed the straps that held the copper contacts against his pale flesh. It brought back impressions - ghosts of cruel hands and sharp blades. Yet he focussed on the present; the solid ground beneath his feet, the way the air felt almost alive with the building charge, and the chemical scent that filled the air.

Crooked fingers coiled around the final switch, resting against the cool wooden handle.

_...activate._

* * *

Saviéran awoke, opening his eyes to a dark blur that gradually sharpened - revealing the wooden beams of the ceiling. His head and back felt sore, and it took him a moment for him to realise that he was lying prone on the stone floor in a tangle of singed clothes and copper cables. He sat up, coaxing feeling back into tingling hands and numbed feet.

His gaze settled on the amulet, its surface intact and seemingly untouched by the forces that had torn through it twice over. Yet the only sign that anything had changed was the gentle glow it now held.

Climbing to his feet, he could feel a strange lightness to his body that had previously been absent. There was a lingering sensation, the distinct impression that he’d _lost_ something. Something important.

After checking that all the machinery was inert, the animancer took the first gingerly steps towards the amulet. Careful hands plucked the artifact from its stand, the copper chain coiled around his crooked fingers; still warm, almost as if the amulet was alive.

It was - at least, in a manner of speaking.

* * *

“You know, there’s a way out of this, it’s simple.”

Alessandro deMarsei rested his elbows on the table, fingers tented in front of calculating hazel eyes. One of the servants offered him a goblet of fine wine, and he nodded his acknowledgement without ever breaking eye contact with the animancer.

“You forget the things you thought you saw, you promise to continue your work for me as you did prior, and you live out your days in relative comfort. Of course, there are going to have to be certain _limits_ on those liberties that you squandered with your ill-conceived heroics. Or…” The nobleman sighed with polite faux regret, reaching for the offered goblet. “I leave you here, in the care of the Steel Garrote.”

Saviéran looked back at him, gathering what composure and dignity he still retained. Not a minor challenge; especially not when his ivory hair was streaked with blood, or when what little finery he still wore was little more than tattered rags. He took slow, shaky breaths, eyes narrowing in quiet defiance.

“A cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded. And I’d rather not live off the suffering of others.” he spat, not once flinching. For once, he was grateful that his hands were manacled behind his back - Alessandro couldn’t see how much he was shaking.

The offer was tempting, he couldn’t deny that. Even now there was a cold dread resting in his gut, the ghostly hands of the strangler tightening around his throat. But no, he wouldn’t.

“You have principles, I grant you that. But how long will they last, I wonder? Doubtlessly, the Woedicans are going to take the word of their rightful lord over what? A soul-butcher from an untamed land, bereft of civilisation? Even if your skills are _tolerated_ by Vailian law, that doesn’t mean that the Woedican church looks upon them favourably.” He took a sip of wine, glancing up and down the animancer’s broken form. For a moment Alessandro looked almost pitying, but then his gaze hardened into something more threatening.

“You might be willing to sacrifice the lives of innocents, but I’m not. You lied to me, and I can’t continue what we started - not now that I know what you did.”

Alessandro tutted, a slow shake of his head indicating both displeasure and disappointment.

“You might be willing to change your mind the next time I see you, animancer. Perhaps the scars left on your own soul might make for an interesting study, at least, once you come to your senses and accept my generous offer?”

* * *

 

He swayed on his feet for a moment, the sensation - the memory - passing through him in a moment that almost felt real. But it was momentary, his mind clearing almost as quickly as the vision came; replacing it with a brief yet powerful urge to run, to throw the amulet as far as he could.

Yet instead, he found himself admiring its soft glow, its gentle weight. As vivid as the memory was, it had lost its bite. Woedica’s cruel hands were no longer present as they had been, and instead he felt as if a burden had been lifted; a wound cauterised, infected flesh excised. And in its place there was a memento.

It was a part of him, and now that soft glow felt like it belonged with him. Something to carry, but never to suffer from. In the back of his mind an immense feeling of regret grew - he couldn’t throw a part of his soul away. Perhaps he couldn’t endure how it nagged at the edges of his being, but neither could he bear to rid himself of something so…

Helpless. Vulnerable. _Precious_.

* * *

“So _that’s_ what that is? I thought it was just some little trinket you picked up on the way to Gilded Vale - animancers and Engwithan ruins are a match that an angry orlan couldn’t break up.” Edér’s smile was warm, though his eyes showed a glint of concern. He plopped his arse down in the sand, wrapping a mostly-dry blanket over Saviéran’s shoulders. The animancer still held the amulet in his hands, the adra still retaining its constant warmth.

“Yes. You could potentially liken it to a phylactery, however the intent was never to attempt lichdom. Do you remember what Durance said, about leaving a soul broken and scarred?”

“That crazy priest said a lot of things. Mostly about the things he didn’t like - which covers about everything, now that I think about it.”

Saviéran shot Edér a smirk. “He did, though this notion? It was personal, and uncomfortably so. He was right; souls _can_ be scarred as much as the mind or body. But the thing with suffering is that it doesn’t always go the way those inflicting it wish it would. Spite inspires defiance, after all. A willingness to change things in opposition to those who would impose on your very being.”

Edér raised an eyebrow, pipe in one hand and a match in the other. “What you’re saying is that you split off a fragment of your soul out of spite? You sure you’re not Dyrwoodan?”

The smirk grew into a grin, and a chuckle escaped from his throat. “No, no. At least, not on my mother’s side at any rate.”

“Are you _sure_ about that? Not even the slightest bit of doubt? The way you almost took my finger off a few weeks back had me thinking that you might’ve been replaced with a wicht.”

Saviéran’s eyes widened slightly, the hint of shock - and then it was Edér’s turn to laugh.

“Don’t think too much of it, if you had, I’d’ve just stitched it right back on and dipped it in one of those nifty regeneration potions to heal. Or you know, you’d’ve eaten it.”

Blinking, Saviéran gathered himself once more - clearly uncertain of how much of what Edér said was a joke or not. He ran a hand through his silvery hair, tucking a loose strand behind a pointed ear.

“I apologise for… well, being out of it recently. I’d say that I wasn’t myself, though that wouldn’t be entirely truthful.”

“Relax, it’s not every day you get most of your soul ripped out by the giant adra statue that dug its way out of your basement. I’m just happy that you’re alive and well again.” Edér almost patted him on the back, though caught the slight flinch in the other man’s form. Instead, he simply lay the hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We can head for the nearest port in the morning. Once we’re there things ought to straighten out,”

 

 

“Unless the town also has a rogue statue problem.”

 

 


End file.
